


For Training Purposes

by lukedancewithme



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: F/M, a st paddy's day mess, all the things that happen actually happened except the niall being there bit, i dont know, i wrote this last year after i ran a 10k, its a mess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-02
Updated: 2015-02-02
Packaged: 2018-03-10 03:02:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3274262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lukedancewithme/pseuds/lukedancewithme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>a girl named logan runs a road-race and niall endures that hell with her</p>
            </blockquote>





	For Training Purposes

There’s so many people, a wall of green and “kiss me I’m Irish” shirts wherever I turned, I couldn’t breathe, much less move. Try as I might, I couldn’t reach the edge of the group and my claustrophobia was kicking in. My bib number was 6945, which meant there was at least that many runners corralled in at the starting line, and I swear they were all taller than me. My anxiety finally had me shoving my way to the outskirts of the mass of people and finally I could see the sun, feel its rays through my three layers. 

 

The road-race itself didn’t have me nervous. It was a great laugh, getting to exaggerate my Irish roots and deck-out in leprechaun gear. Six miles (give or take) was a lot, but I’d run cross-country during high school and kept that workout in university as well. Though it would have been better if my brother hadn’t ditched me ages ago, following a redhead with a green tutu into the sea of runners. Now I’d have to run alone.

 

I was leaning against the barricade queuing up a playlist I had put together for today (all Saw Doctors to get in the St. Patrick’s day mood) when I felt someone brush next to me. He was blonde, not naturally though, that much was obvious. His running shorts were those black generic Adidas ones with white stripes climbing up the sides. And he wore the shirt everyone who was participating received, an electric blue one saying ‘39th Annual St. Patrick’s Day Road Race’ with a clover and a People’s Bank logo on the sleeve, with a bib numbered 2736 covering his stomach. He had beat up New Balance sneakers on, and ray bands covering his eyes. The only piece of Irish spirit he had was a green snapback flipped backwards on his head, which was my weakness when it came to guys (I blame Ash Ketchum for that one).

 

He was taller than me, but not so much so that I had to break my neck to see his face. Which by the way was not so hard on the eyes. My brother got himself a tutu girl and now I’ve got what looks to be a 20-year-old frat boy.

 

His head swiveled downwards and he not so slyly checked out my cleavage before meeting my eyes. I wasn’t put off though, considering I was clad in under armor, my own ‘participants’ shirt and a jacket, there wasn’t much to check out. 

 

I wasn’t sure if he was looking to strike up a conversation, I mean was that something you do when your four minutes from starting a 10k? So I just went back to securing my iPod in the handy little armband my mom got me for Christmas. I guess he was fishing for a chat because he gave a small smile before asking for a name. The accent did not go by unnoticed.

 

“Logan”

 

He lifted an eyebrow, “Logan? Your parents hoping for a boy or what?” I huffed as I received the same reaction I get whenever my name is shared.

 

“The originality is mind-blowing, truly.”

 

“Sorry,” he snickered “I’m Niall by the way,” and stuck his hand out for a proper first meeting. I took it, and gave it a firm shake like my dad always told me to.

 

“Sounds Irish enough, nice to meet you Niall. What are you doing on this side of the pond, surely you didn’t come all this way just for the race?” I have always warmed up to people rather fast, both my parents were social butterflies and I’ve grown up with the mantra of if something’s not fun, make it; mostly to be put in practice during Christmas parties and family barbeques.

 

“Nah, I go to Babson, just across the way.”

 

“Babson in Boston” I mocked; I couldn’t help it, the alliteration was just begging to be highlighted. He chuckled out a ‘yea’ and I checked my watch, two more minutes until the start. He then turned his whole body towards me and gestured to a black knee brace.

 

“Listen, I’ve got meself a dodgy knee, so runnin’ this thing like the Olympians up there is out of the question, would ya mind pacing with me? Don’t want to be left for dead by meself.”

 

“I don’t know, what’s in it for me?” He thought it over for a second, putting together his best pitch.

 

“Make it the most entertainin’ road race you’ll ever run; knock-knock jokes by the hundreds and whole monologues from Grey’s Anatomy memorized. ‘M tellin’ ya, won’t be a dull moment.” Niall offered, really selling himself.

 

“Deal”

 

 

 

The gun went off right at one o’clock and Niall and I fell into a steady jog. This was my fourth time running the race, so I knew what to expect, but based off the memory of my first try, I knew this would be hell for Niall.

 

The beginning is always the best. When you’re fresh and not soaked in sweat or look like your face is about to catch fire. The barricades last the first half mile and they are just packed with spectators all cheering you on. The energy is high and it feels like the scene out of Rocky II when half a town runs behind him during his training.

 

After the first half mile however, there’s a hill. And I mean a hill. Niall was huffing and puffing with a flushed face by the top of it, but he refused to walk.

 

“I think I should train a tad more next year. Would ya help me out, Logan?”

 

About a mile in, by the Circle Church at the top of downtown, we started rating people’s costumes and cheering in encouragement to anyone we pass by. We missed the water station though, and I was parched. Niall said we would get some the next time.

 

Just before the two mile mark is a highway underpass that takes you up a small incline by a seafood place. My grandma lives opposite of it on Ontario Drive. She always comes out and cheers my brother and me on, her own Irish brogue easily distinguishable above others. I never even realized she had an accent until my mother pointed it out when I was somewhere around thirteen. I still don’t really notice it, but now I love listening to her talk and trying to find where it affects her words.

 

“Go Logan! Go!” I spotted her sitting with Bridget who I’m pretty sure I’m related to at the corner by an ‘Authentic Italian Pizzeria’ (I use the word authentic lightly). After pointing her out, Niall and I wave. In amidst that, we miss another water station.

 

I was literally dying of thirst by the time we reach the stretch of road halfway to the third mile. Niall kept glancing over at me to make sure I hadn’t passed out while also keeping an eye out for another station. The tune of “Wild Rover” grew increasingly loud behind us and I knew what that meant. I turned to see a small pack of people, making sure to never stray too far from a man pushing a stroller.

 

The stroller had a boom box bungee corded to the front and a small cooler situated in the pouch in the back. Luckily, I knew John Joe; he was Kate McHale’s kid (another person I may or may not be vaguely related to). I grabbed a thin part of Niall’s sleeve and directed him towards John.

 

“Little Johnny McHale. Who would’ve thought you would run this beast.”

 

“Well if it isn’t Logan O’Riley, in the flesh. You want a cold one? I’ve got plenty.”

 

“And one for my friend Niall here, a real Irishman this one.” I knew it would pay off to have been nice to John Joe all those childhood years one day. My dehydration was about to be offed in the best way there is.

 

“Not a problem missy.” With that he grabbed two Bud Lite’s from the cooler and handed them to us. Niall gave a grin and a tilt of his drink.

 

“Cheers”

 

 

 

Between the third and fourth mile felt like a life time and I was about sure I would have to carry Niall across the finish line. The beer backfired and I really really needed water. Luckily at Maple St. corner was a drink station before a sharp hill.

 

I slowed my jog to grab the water off the table and Niall stumbled behind me, wheezing and complaining about his knee. We gulped down our drinks and dropped the cups on the ground with the other hundreds from before us then looked up at the mountain we were about to go up.

 

We walked up the hill with pride.

 

An easy conversation was able to flow once we caught our breath. We talked about our families and our majors and what we liked to do on weekends. I told him about my brother Sean and how he abandoned me before the race started for a tutu clad girl and he told me about his brother and his wife, who were expecting a baby in the summer.

 

“I hope it’s a boy. A girl I’d spoil rotten and she’d be great too, have her mother’s eyes I reckon. But I can already see me babysittin’ him and playin’ football in the back yard with a nephew.”

 

“You seem more excited for the baby than Greg and Denise must be.” He laughed, a real loud cackle now that he wasn’t panting, it made me feel giddy inside.

 

 

 

 

The entire fourth mile was practically all down hill, but for some reason, that made it seem longer. We were making good time though. And if Niall’s knee held up we’d make it under an hour, just barley, but we’d do it. 

 

A few paces in front of us were three raunchy guys. Well, two raunchy guys and one in a banana suit. Niall and I would laugh at them behind their backs every time they explained that the only reason they were running so slow was because they had drank so much.

 

 

 

 

At one of the houses along the straight away after the downhill was a young boy in a wheel chair cheering us on. When we passed Niall veered right and gave him a high-five. My heart clenched when he ruffled his hair before we left.

 

 

 

Seeing the five-mile mark was like seeing Jesus Christ himself. We only had 1.2 miles left but when that number dropped to (approximately) one mile, Niall’s knee started acting up. I started coaxing him with promises of pints to keep him going because we were so so close.

 

At the six-mile mark is where it really starts to suck.

 

You turn the corner back downtown and have .2 of a mile to go. The only problem is this .2 of a mile is up a hill.

 

It’s a sad excuse of a hill, hardly one at all. The thing is, you’re so exhausted from the other six miles and the finish line is in sight and all you want is to be done. The small hill at the end might as well be Mt. Everest.

 

Like I said, this was my fourth time running the road race, so I knew what to expect. I knew about this killer of a hill and was prepared, mentally at least. I should have warned Niall however because the whole time we crawled up he moaned and groaned about his “-fucking knee, oh my god”.

 

We made it though, eventually. Not in first, but at least ahead of Banana Man and his drunken minions. And Niall smiled at me, as we crossed the finish line, so proud of us it was oozing between his teeth.

 

 

 

 

I found Sean by the Guinness tent already nursing a pint but lacking a tutu-wearing girl. I bought one for myself and one for Niall (I did make a promise) and introductions were made.

 

Before Sean and I left to go visit my grandma, Niall asked for my number, saying it was-

 

 

“For training purposes, obviously.”

**Author's Note:**

> i honestly dont know guys I'm just trying to get stuff out there  
> be kind xx
> 
> p.s sorry if the spacing is weird i couldn't be bothered to fix it up properly
> 
> lukedancewithme.tumblr.com


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